Boo!
by redcherryamber
Summary: A tale for Halloween. Some ghosts are not content to remain as memories. Not quite Cloud, and not quite Tifa. You'll see. Oneshot.


**A tale for Halloween. **

**On pain medication for an ear infection, the mind does strange things...**

**Full of ghost story cliches - or tropes - as I prefer to call them, because it doesn't sound so much like stealing.**

**I confess to nicking one bit from Dr. Who. To be fair though, it was already a bit of a clich - er - _trope_ - before they used it.**

**Set several years after Omega.**

**SquareEnix owns the Shinra Mansion. I'm just wandering its draughty halls...**

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**Boo!**

The boy goes first – he's done this before – although never in darkness – never on _this_ night. The girl watches his shadowy figure climbing quickly – a quiet grunt, a heave, and she can see his blond hair, silvered by moonlight, as he sits astride the crumbling wall. There is no wind and all she can hear is his breathing and her own rapid heartbeat. He shifts atop the wall, and something – loose render, or brick-dust and mortar - falls down, pattering onto the leaves of the bushes that grow close to the dilapidated mansion now there is no-one to cut them back.

The girl wonders what she's doing here, on this night of all nights: the Festival of Souls – the start of winter – the dead time – when the village folk say the lifestream flows closer to the world of the living than on any other night. It's a strange time – a time for curses and a time for blessings. You may be lucky enough to feel the presence of departed loved ones. Widows have been moved to tears by the sudden warmth of a kiss from invisible lips – bereaved parents have been comforted by the clasp of a little, ghostly hand. These visitations are not disturbing, so they tell you – they are accompanied by an overwhelming peace: the sense, bestowed by the lifestream, that everything is connected and continuous. Those who have experienced it often speak of a feeling they call 'flow'.

On the other hand you may be unlucky enough encounter less benign spirits. Some have even seen things: shifting forms half-glimpsed at twilight – something sinister, on the edge of vision, moving between the trees.

The girl shivers and wonders how she can back out of this deal now. But she's the daughter of a wealthy family, and the boy is little more than a common farm-worker with delusions of grandeur. She has mocked his bravado more than once: she cannot show herself a fraud now.

"Come on!" he calls down, his voice loud enough to make her start. "It's not even that high!"

"All right!" She leaps, gains a good handhold on the top of the wall and pulls herself up. It's not a graceful effort, but she's done it. Moonlight flashes white as the boy grins at her, then he's gone – dropping into long grass and shadows on the other side of the wall. Hastily she follows him, not wishing to remain alone and exposed. There may well be other children about, all dressed in the traditional green, daring each other to run up and touch the walls of the haunted mansion, or to rattle the chains on the rusting gates. None of _them_ will dare to cross this boundary though. Not tonight.

In the shade of the wall the grass is damp and clings wetly to her bare legs. She moves forward almost blindly.

"Where are you?" hisses the boy.

"Here!" She puts out her hands and touches nothing. Then she almost screams as a hand clutches at her wrist – but it's only him. Of course – she tells herself. Who else?

Who else? They tell tales of this place, in the village. Tales to terrify children. Tales too bizarre, too horrible to have any basis in reality. The girl has heard the story of the evil scientist who created monsters out of mortal men and women. She has listened to whispers of unimaginable tortures. Once the boy told her about a man who, having died, was sealed in a coffin for years before returning to life. "And his body had neither decayed nor aged by so much as a day."

Even the mansion itself, damaged after Omega and restored by Shin-Ra, is a mystery. No-one knows what the company intended to use it for – but, in the end, it was abandoned – the empty ghost-image of a past reality. Perhaps the money simply ran out. Perhaps – now Shin-Ra is recovering at last – the mansion will be reclaimed?

But the girl has heard stories like these before – mad scientists, undead coffin-dwellers, haunted mansions. She's read them in books from the village library, and seen them in countless films and television programmes. These stories are made to frighten small children, and she's almost fourteen. She's not scared.

"Scared?" the boy asks her, as he leads the way around to the back of the mansion. The building looms out of the darkness – a vast edifice built of shade and moonlight and memories.

"Not me," the girl tells him, her voice bolder than her heart. "Are you?"

"Never." He sounds as though he means it – but then, so did she.

The boy strides ahead of her around a corner, and she stumbles after him. "There's a broken window," he tells her. "I found it a while ago. We can get in through that."

"Get in? You said _look _in."

"Yes, but now we're here, it would be stupid not to go inside. Unless you're too scared?"

"No. I'll do anything you'll do – and more."

"Come on then."

The broken window is not hard to reach, but it's difficult to see because over the years the gloomy conifers have grown quickly, and in this place long branches reach out to brush cracked walls.

"You'll have to stand on my shoulders," the boy tells the girl. She knows there's no point arguing with that: he's not tall, but he has well-developed muscles and she could never lift him. So she does as he says, balancing precariously, hands against damp bricks that are slippery in places with moss. Her fingers touch rotten wood, then cold glass. Once her eyes have adjusted, she can just make out the jagged hole in one of the square lights in the leaded glass – a darker patch in the darkness – an absence. Wishing that she'd thought to wear gloves, she makes a fist and knocks out the rest of the glass in the panel.

"Reach inside," the boy instructs. "See if you can find the catch."

The girl gasps as she thinks she sees something move, but it's only her own dim reflection in one of the intact panes. She hesitates.

"Hurry up!" the boy says. "You're heavier than you look!"

"All right!"

But she still hesitates. There is something awful about having to put her hand inside that space – that darker darkness. She takes a breath.

"Come on!"

The girl makes herself move. In her mind she can imagine her own hand inside the building, groping for the catch. Is someone there, watching? Her mother always told her she had too much imagination. There are no ghosts. No demons, no witches. Not even monsters – not anymore. Since Meteor, since Omega, the monsters have been eliminated and the reactors have been closed. There are still pools of materia up on Mount Nibel, but it's safe to walk there now.

There! She finds the catch, and the window swings towards her slightly, with surprising ease. Leaning sideways, she opens it fully, and steps onto the sill, bracing her hands against the peeling frame. Once she's balanced, she reaches into the pocket of her skirt for the torch. Switching it on, she sweeps the narrow beam of light around the room quickly – wanting to know the worst. It's just a kitchen – quite ordinary – a large white enamel sink directly beneath the windowsill on which she's standing – an old oven – a wooden table and chairs.

Perhaps it's because he's pushed her further than she intended to go, or just because the Festival of Souls is traditionally a time for mischief – but something makes her decide to play a trick on the boy. She steps quietly down into the sink, then suddenly jumps to the floor with a little scream. She ducks down on the floor, and turns off the torch.

There is a moment's silence, followed by a frantic scrabbling, and the boy appears on the windowsill, calling her name. She doesn't reply. He curses, then clambers down into the sink and on to the floor, slipping and banging into things in the dark. Once he's down, the girl positions the torch under her chin and switches it on suddenly, yelling, "Boo!"

The boy yelps and leaps about a foot in the air, and the girl laughs. "Got you!" But when she turns the torch on the boy's face, she sees he's really shaken.

"That's not funny!" he snaps. "I thought you were hurt!"

"It so _is_ funny." But she sounds defensive. She feels a bit bad. She feels worse when she remembers that she's got both torches, because she forgot to give him his when they met by the wall.

To make amends she says, "That was brave though – to come to save me in the dark."

"Huh!" he says. "Did you think I'd run away?"

"No," she tells him, realising that it's the truth. "But some boys would have."

He makes no reply to that, only says, a little gruffly, "Let's explore." She fishes the second torch out of her pocket and hands it to him.

Beyond the kitchen is a large dining room with a long table of dark wood, thick with dust. The boy runs his hand along it, leaving a mark like a river running over a dry plain. Shining her torch upwards the girl discovers an elaborate chandelier, its crystal drops gleaming dully, their brightness obscured by dust and cobwebs. She pauses for a moment, listening. "It's so quiet," she whispers.

"Yes." The boy doesn't quite whisper, but his tone is low. There is a hush here that seems to brook no disturbance.

"But it doesn't feel haunted."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure. I thought it would be scarier. It just feels… old. And still."

The boy doesn't mock her. He nods.

Opening another heavy wooden door takes them into a room that is empty apart from an ancient piano. Wandering over to it, the girl tries a note, but the only sound is the muted tap of a broken hammer. Beyond this room is a vast hallway. Bright moonlight filters in though high, elaborate windows, delicate as lace. An elegant wooden staircase appears to be more or less intact. The girl stands still, gazing at the windows. "This house is just so… sad!" she sighs. "No-one cares about it any more. No-one wants it. Not even ghosts."

They wander together through different rooms, risking the stairs, which creak a little, but do not give way. In the bedrooms the counterpanes and pillows are mildewed, and the curtains grey with dust. The boy picks up a book from a nightstand, but the pages have become pulpy, fused together with damp.

They reach a room with an open sliding door. From beyond it, cool air issues. Shining both torches into the opening they see a spiral staircase made of uneven stones descending into unknown darkness. The steps glisten with damp, and the rough stone walls are green with slimy mosses and lichens. The boy and the girl look at each other, and reach a silent consensus. The girl nods. "Too dangerous. We don't know how deep…"

"I'll come back though – one day. In daylight."

"Yes. I'll come too."

With a shared, relieved, regretful glance into the pit, they turn away.

It doesn't take more than a few minutes to regain the kitchen, and then it's out of the window, back across the overgrown garden and up over the wall. Once they land safely on the other side, the girl laughs softly. "They'll never believe this at school!"

"We'll be heroes!"

"That was a real adventure. I wasn't scared at all though, were you?"

"No. Not even for a minute."

Turning away from the mansion towards home, the boy and the girl stop dead and stare. Above Nibelheim hangs a strange, orange glow like nothing they've ever seen before. It tinges everything – the walls of buildings, the tiled rooftops, even the clouds.

"What is it?" asks the boy, and _now_ he sounds afraid.

"I don't… It must be a trick of the light… a harvest moon is often orange or gold…"

"That's not moonlight."

As they watch, the light changes and shifts uneasily. It seems weirdly in motion – almost _flickering_…

The girl reaches for the boy's hand. "It's like… _fire_light!"

"Something's on fire!"

Together they run towards the village but it seems to take an eternity to reach the square although it's so close – should be so close. The unnatural light is stronger now, and there is a terrible scent on the air – the smell of burning, of buildings and produce and livelihoods and _people _burning…

But nothing's on fire. The square is as it always was – the ungainly water-tower at its centre – neat cobbles – picturesque half-timbered houses. A few green-clad children run from house to house, demanding apples and sweets, or tricks will be played. The girl stares around her, disorientated. It's as if she's seeing double – the village she knows - as it should be, safe and sound - and layered over it – or under it – she can't tell anymore – this other, hellish Nibelheim – burning, burning… She whirls to stare at her parents' house, and reflected in its windowpanes she sees herself and the boy – or at least – a blond boy and a dark, slender girl – but for a moment they look like strangers. Behind them she sees leaping flames.

"What's happening?" she cries, but the boy doesn't reply, and then she finds that she's no longer holding his hand, and when she turns to him, he's gone. And then she's running and running through streets that should be familiar, and why are those other people running? There are flames, and smoke and terrible heat. Who is she looking for? Why is she calling for someone called Cloud?

A hand takes hers, and she sobs with relief, but it's not the boy – it's a man in some kind of uniform, with a shock of yellow hair and blue, blue eyes, and he's saying, "Run home! Run home, and don't look back!" And she starts to run – she does – but then she hears the boy's voice in her mind, only it doesn't sound like him anymore – it's deep and calm, and there's something about it that makes her want to listen although she knows she shouldn't. And the voice says: "Scared?"

She wants to say yes, but she can't back down.

"No. I'll do anything you do, and more."

She hears low laughter. "Don't look back…"

So, naturally, she looks back.

^.^ ^.^ ^.^ ^.^ ^.^

Of course, when this kind of thing happens, there's only one place you can go. The Shin-Ra building in Edge is almost complete now, and its secure hospital floor has been open for years. Everyone knows that Shin-Ra doctors and scientists are the best on the planet, and Shin-Ra has always looked after its own.

The girl's parents are permitted to visit her once a month, but there's really no point – it's not as though she recognises them. The doctors lie to them - tell them that she will probably recover in time: it's a mental breakdown caused by shock. The boy – when he'd recovered enough – told them that the pair of them had broken into the old Shin-Ra mansion, and that when they'd come out, they'd both started seeing things and behaving irrationally. They'd quite literally scared themselves silly.

And, as the girl's mother admits herself, the poor child always has had an over-active imagination.

This time the boy comes with them when they visit. It's been a year to the day – another Festival of Souls. The boy sits by the bed, and looks at the girl, who does not respond. She's not in a coma – all her vital signs are good – but, although her eyes are open, she sees nothing in this world.

The boy sighs. "I'll keep coming, until you're better," he tells her. "I won't run away. Not like some boys would."

Later that night, when the families and friends have gone back to their perfect, sham villages – Nibelheim, Kalm, Banora – Professor Hollander does her rounds of the wards. She has many theories, some based on her dead father's work – others inspired by research notes left behind by that twisted genius Hojo. President Rufus Shinra is interested in her work. He had ideas, now that the world is finally beginning to recover: perhaps some of Hojo's work is salvageable? If they're careful not to make the same mistakes…

But this new case is different. All the other victims of this strange, pseudo-comatose state are Shin-Ra employees who knew their roles and the nature of the history they were rewriting. But this girl…

Hollander pauses at the girl's beside. This girl was born in the new Nibelheim. She knew nothing of its terrible past. So how is it that every night this same pattern recurs? -

And here it comes – right on cue –

On the bed, the girl's slender body suddenly goes rigid. She begins to murmur; unintelligible streams of words at first. Then her eyes open wide and she begins to speak clearly, writhing on the bed, moaning: "No – no – no…"

"What is it?" Hollander asks. "What can you see?"

"Him!" cries the girl. "Always Him! Don't look back!"

"Tell me exactly what you can see."

"A demon. A ghost. Don't look back! Nothing but black and silver and fire, and fire, and fire. And those eyes – brighter than even the flames! He's killed so many people! And he's still _smiling!_"

"Go back to sleep," Hollander tells her. "It's only a nightmare."

"It's not _only_ a nightmare," the girl says, her voice low and intense. "It's a memory. But, you see – he won't remain a memory.

"Don't look back," she says, one last time, like a mantra.

Like a warning.

Usually that's the end of it, until the next night. Hollander turns to walk away, but she's arrested by a sudden, low laugh.

The girl sits up suddenly, making the Professor gasp. This has never happened before. The girl closes her eyes and smiles a strange, cold smile that freezes the professor's blood. Blinking, Hollander looks about her. Are her eyes playing tricks on her? Has something happened to the lights? Suddenly the ward is filled with a weird, flickering, orange luminescence. Hollander cries out as every patient in the ward sits up in perfect unison and every head turns her way. The patients open their eyes and stare at her. As one, their mouths open. "Don't look back," they intone, expressionless. Hollander can't help herself. Slowly she turns around.

In the strange light, the girl on the bed no longer looks like herself. Her long hair is shining with an ethereal, silver sheen. She is changing before Hollander's disbelieving eyes – her body growing – her face dissolving and reforming…

Glowing green eyes, bright as the lifestream, flick open.

"Boo," Sephiroth says quietly, with a little, sardonic smile. He leaps from the bed, and as he does so, Masamune appears in his left hand.

Slowly he advances on Hollander.

"First you, then everyone else, until I reach President Shinra," he tells her.

"Just like the first time."

His face is beautiful and completely terrifying.

And he's still smiling.

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**Thanks for reading.**

**Mwahahahaha!**


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